The Broken Hearted
by xOhxSnapx
Summary: Sequeal to Serpents Song.After the war the Death Eaters took over. Harry has been in Azkaban for two years, with no chance of escape, but the Resistance wont give up. With his best friends dead, and many others, could there be a chance for a third war?
1. Chapter 1

**The Broken Hearted  
**_The broken hearted lie alone tonight. Can this be real?_

**Ch 1. Who We are**  
_Between the future and the past tense lies the present and the distant._

There was a howling of the wind though the damp and dark corridors of the Azkaban Prison that gave the prison a most unwelcoming feeling. The air hung around something dreadful, and screams of the inmates filled the night, at least that is what Harry Potter was hearing at the moment. He was shivering, it was cold, and he could see white wisps of his breath. A grave knowing feeling settled in his stomach. The place reeked of death, and all that was death, if ever that made sense. It was like there was a non existent clock, ticking down the hours, minutes, and seconds of each day.

Tonight was going to be the same as last night, and the night before that. It was always going to be the same, there was no way around that.

The prison had been the same unwelcoming place that he had always imagined it would have been when he was younger, back when he first hear of the place. A horrid place that changed a man forever. A place where one forgets about the outside world, and is left to dwell on the horrid memories of the past in a nightmarish hell. Azkaban became sort of a final resting place for the pleasant memories, draining them from people, and leaving them with nothing but the bad, nothing but the things that they had wished to forget. A place that reminded them of the things that they had once forgotten.

"_It's okay. Forget it."  
"No, I shouldn't've"  
"Forget it."  
"There's nothing to cry about!"  
"You two are so stupid!"  
"Barking mad. Harry, c'mon, they'll be putting up your scores…"_

Harry let his head rest against the wall and shut his eyes tightly. He clutched his prison robes tightly to his body as he could. Another cold breeze picked up, and ran through the damp corridors, sending shivers down the mans back. Another cold night, horrible night, and he couldn't push away the voices. They were still coming. He wished they wouldn't. He didn't want these memories when there was no one left to share them with. They were gone. All of them, and they were never coming back and the ones that were still here weren't worth sharing memories with.

He could see them all, Katie Bell broken always sat with her knees drawn up, swaying to music only she could hear. She didn't even scream any more only swayed, haunted. Neville Longbottom was the most terrified of them all, his screams along with Terry Boot's screams filled the corridors. There were thirteen of them total, but it was hardest to look at Terry, it was almost cruel.

In the last year before the war they were going out, and it was almost like nothing could have touched them but then the war happened. Death Eaters over took the Ministry of Magic and when Voldemort was defeated at last, sought out to capture and imprison those whom had opposed them. As personal punishment they placed Terry in the cell in front of Harry's. Terry didn't talk now, he clawed at his ears and sides of his face when a Dementor would come and he stared off into space from one corner of his cell, he screamed in the darkest hours of night where the torches went out. He would scream for hours and in those hours Harry would try to sleep.

Kingsley Shacklebot was also in one of the cells, but Harry couldn't see him. Day in and day out he was shouting off orders to dead Aurors who had died during the war. He would try to talk of a plan to Harry, but Harry didn't see the point, and few times he would laugh.

There were no real conversations held in Azkaban among the inmates anymore. Most had lost their voices in screams and some had lost all sanity and spoke of nonsense.

Even now Harry watched Terry in his cell. His hands were at his sides, and he stared tightlipped straight ahead of him into Harry's cell, not looking at anything. He emitted a sort of a gargled sound from the back of his throat as he tilted his head back and brought his hands to the side of his face, his fingers tearing, scratching, and slowly ebbing away at the raw skin there.

"Terry, stop," croaked Harry, leaning his head on the side of his cot. "Stop, Terry. Terry!" His eyes widened and his vision blurred. "Stop, stop, stop, stop. Please, stop," he added meekly, letting his head loll to the other side before curling up and laying on the floor.

Katie swayed faster, but he paid her no mind. He shut his eyes, blocking out the image of Terry clawing at himself, and the wreck of a world around him. He made himself forget in that moment everything that he had been with Terry, he made himself forgot what he and Terry were. The man across from him was nothing more than a shell now.

"Aren't the flowers pretty?" Cooed Angelina Johnson, not able to hear herself properly. She was to Harry's far left. She was delusional. "They're pink and purple now. Whatever happened to the lilies, I wonder?" She screamed at all hours of the day.

If this was life after the war then Harry didn't see what he had been complaining about before the war, all those years at Hogwarts. Those years, those six years spent there were nothing compared to this. Those years were spent with best friends, and normal teenager troubles, saving the school troubles set aside. In those past years his friends were still alive, and they were still able to fight with each other. Now they were buried six feet under.

It wouldn't be until two days did they get their meal, and it was anything but a meal. It was mush and it was always served by the same person. By the end of his first year, Harry had stopped fighting with the Azkaban guards, he had begun to take their insults. Throwing them aside, seemingly unaffected. But he was, in more ways than one could possibly imagine, and only of the guards noticed, and only one took advantage of it now that the Boy Who Lived was no longer such.

That one guard was Azkaban Supervisor and Hit Wizard Draco Malfoy. Harry thought he had such a job because of what a horrible Death Eater he was. He gave Harry his mush last, always, and had words with him. But they weren't words, really.

Malfoy came to a halt in front of Harry's cell and slid the tray under the bars, expecting the man to jump at it, as the others had. He would sneer ever time it didn't happen, and cross his arms. "You're a dead man, Potter," he sneered, leaning against the pillar behind him

Harry licked his chapped lips, cocking his head to the side. "Not yet," he said, his voice barely a whisper, dry and raspy. "I've still got a pulse."

The two locked eyes and Malfoy thought that Harry would pass out at any moment. His lips curled into a sneer. Oh, how he hoped he would. He was the only one of them that made any sense now, and he loathed it. There was nothing for the scarred man now. There was nothing that he could run back to, if he ever managed to get out.

"When, Potter, are you going to die?" Snarled Malfoy, trying to get a flicker of emotion in the other man. It was no use. Harry just let his head fall back against the ball.

He smiled weakly and croaked, "When the screams stop."

Malfoy sneered and turned to walk away, leaving Harry to himself and the company of the other inmates.

"PULL BACK!" Boomed Kingsley from near the entrance, shaking the bars. "Where are the reinforcements? Damnit, we need those reinforcements!"

As he eyed his mush warily he bent over himself to rest his head on his knees, strands of dirty hair falling over his face. He retreated back into himself, allowing the cold to wash over him, and all sound became murmurs. All feeling became numb and he smiled a crooked smile despite himself, allowing himself to realize at last that he was insane as the rest of them. This was the hell that Sirius Black had escaped from, but it was the hell that he would not escape from.

"We don't have any, sir," Harry said faintly, his mouth hardly moving. "They're already out there."

- - - - -

A small house in Wales is also the sight of an imprisonment of sorts. Two years under house arrest can seem very much like prison, mad only worse when the one watching over you is your own older brother. Ginny Weasley couldn't remember the last time she was able to go out on her own before she had been arrest in Ireland and brought back to England. She would fight with her brother like she had never fought with him before. But she remember when she was a teenager, she remembered telling the air around her like she was talking with Harry Potter, she remember saying she wasn't ready to grow up. Not then.

Ginny Weasley, now twenty-one, was very much alone in the world, and had only herself to keep company. Percy Weasley did little for company, and she took every opportunity she could to have a spat with him. All their family was dead, and George was on the run and wanted. To this day, she was still mad at Harry for sending her away days after she had come back from hiding because the war was days away. She had been ready to fight, but silly Harry had pushed her away to keep her safe, why couldn't he have done that for Ron, Fred, Bill, and Hermione, too? They had died in the war, so should she have!

She screamed and she cried for three days straight after being put under house arrest. She cried for all those who were lost in the war, and she scream at her brother and Harry. She screamed out of anger and frustration and sadness and in pain. In Ireland she had watched from the outside as her homeland crumbled, and the death toll kept going up. Brought back she was witness to her world crumbling around her, and reality shattered when she was given all of her remaining things. She tore up her old school robes, set fire to her old books, hid her pictures and her diaries so that only she knew their location. Private things such as those, filled with happy memories of happy times, should be kept private and secret.

There was a resistance out there, somewhere, against the current Ministry, and she was apart of it. They were small in number, but to them that wasn't what matter. They're goal, they're common goal was to get Harry out of Azkaban, and anyone else that they could. She had met with them one day in Diagon Alley when Percy had her come with him on business. She told him that she would be at the ice cream parlor catching up with an old friend.

That old friend was Luna Lovegood who had veiled herself in pretty robes of blue and gray. As part of the Resistance it was Luna's job to fill Ginny in with any updates. They talked seriously for most of the time, over melting ice cream, and laughed away the old days at Hogwarts with their remaining time before Percy had come to collect her. Ginny a waved farewell to her friend and begrudgingly trudged off with her brother.

Back home Ginny watched as her brother fretted over work. Perched atop the stairs brown eyes surveyed the scene. He wasn't old, not any older than she wasn't, a few years. Hell, she had forgotten how old the twins would have been now, how was she to remember _his_ birthday? They only celebrated her birthday, and only because Percy wanted to make his baby sister feel at home. But this wasn't home, and it could never be.

"You said this never hurt you, Ginny," Percy said, looking up from his work. He pushed up his glasses with his index finger. "I've always said that you were a liar."

Ginny clenched her jaw. "You're the liar, Percy Weasley," she spat at him from where she sat. "_You_ chose this, I didn't. _You're_ the one working with them! They killed Mum and Dad, remember? They killed our brothers. My brothers, _your_ brothers, or did you forget that, too? And the one person who tried to make everything right, the one person who tried to put an end to it all is in Azkaban."

Percy, by this time, had turned back to his work, back to Ginny. She was fuming and her eyes were burning, but she wouldn't allow herself to cry. Not in front of him, not anymore. "This is who we are, then, is it? Or is this how they want you to be?" He wouldn't answer her, and when he did it only made her loathe him more.

Tightlipped, and peering over his shoulder Percy asked, "What do you want then, Gin?"

But Ginny couldn't answer him. To answer to Percy now, would to be answering to the Death Eaters and Ginny, not a million years, would never do that.

- - - - - - -

"I wish you lot would stop moping. It makes me feel like I'm around a bunch of old people," Commented Luna loftily, flopping down on an old, beat up sofa. When Lupin and McGonagall glared at her she simply stared at them a moment before laughing. Of course, she had forgotten, some of them were older.

They were the base for the Resistance, a small house on the outskirts of Wiltshire, but home to more than sixteen at a time it seemed. It was Lupin's home, actually, but for safety reasons, used it for their base. The Ministry knew of them, they were aware of the Resistance building, and growing, but thought nothing of them. They were a small group, after all. Looks, the Resistance found, were very deceiving. They had managed to fool the Ministry quite a few times. After all, it pays to have two former professors and one former Auror on their side.

"Have you heard from Oliver, Cho?" Asked a sleepy Tonks who found herself laying on the floor, using old issues of the Daily Prophet for a pillow. In these times, and ever since the war, her hair was left in brown ringlets, the color and form of her hair that she claimed was her natural hair. She still changed everything about her, however.

Cho Change shook her head before folding her legs Indian style on the her chair. "Not since last week, I'm afraid. He claimed that findings of any other survivors in Ireland were little to none and he was coming home soon. I am hopeful, however."

Seamus Finnigan snorted into his coffee. "The likely chances he'll find anyone there is nothing. They found Ginny in Limerick, didn't they? And that was two years ago. I say they've already cleared of them out, and shoved them in Azkaban with the others."

Having heard this information Tonks stood and went to sit beside Lupin, looking gave. "I've heard from a reliable source that conditions in Azkaban aren't as well as they had been last month. They've all broke and gone mad. Most of them don't talk now. Some only scream and the rest don't do anything."

All the rest looked down into their hands or anywhere but each other. "And what of, Potter?" Ask a weary McGonagall.

Tonks bowed her head. "My source tells me that Harry's - well, he's stopped trying to interact with the others. He wont even have a go at the guards anymore, like he's shutting down."

"Then it's settled," Lupin said firmly, placing a hand atop Tonks'. "We've got to do something."

Luna sighed exasperatedly. "Well, of course we do, silly! We can't just sit here every day like this, can we? Honestly, can you all really be that lazy?"

**- - - - -**

**A/N:** Okay, so if you've read my story Serpents Song, this is the squeal. Even though I haven't finished that. This will be probably the only update in a LONG time because I was lucky that I had posted this on my livejournal, but the rest is at home on my computer, alas, I have no internet. So, until I'm either a) able to get internet or b) copy all the chapters on paper, this will have to do. And the same goes for the last chapter of Serpents Song. Oh, and, don't mind any typo's you see, I write without a beta and during the AM.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch 2 Scars  
**_My scars remind me that the past is real._

Life at the Malfoy Manor went unchanged for years. Walls still dark and plainly littered with mirrors and portraits of ancestors and current family members were scattered everywhere. The manor was home to new Lord and Lady Draco and Pansy Malfoy and Draco's father, Lucius, who refused to leave the place he had lived for several years do to many a reason. The main reason being that he wished to see Pansy produce a proper heir, and sore that he would not leave until he had a grandson, not matter how long it took. Pansy found it all very amusing, much to Draco's dismay. He would have rather his father move in with his crazy aunt and uncle in whatever part of hell they currently resided in.

The only visitors the manor received were those of close family, friends, and Ministry of magic employees. For today, there would be a small gathering of sorts, nothing entirely too pleasant, however. Today consisted of family, friend and co-workers. It would give Pansy chance to talk with someone other than her husband and father-in-law. It would give her the talk time she desperately needed, and the talk time Draco needed as well. For today the Malfoy's would play host to the Lestranges, Daphne Greengrass, and Blaise Zabini.

It was always such a joy for Pansy to see Daphne and Blaise, such long time _friends_ as the they had been growing up and going to school together. It was still nice to hear all of the gossip that floated around the Ministry and everywhere else that she didn't get to visit often. Draco, however, chose Blaise's company over Daphne's, while both Daphne and Blaise talked avidly about their sex lives Blaise was still less likely to go off on a random burst of the latest issue of Witch Weekly, and for that, Draco was very grateful.

That left Lucius with the company of his in-laws. His late wife's sister and husband. He had his favorite, too. Between both Bellatrix and Rodolphus, Lucius would rather spend his time in the study conversing with Rodolphus than with Bellatrix, but the fates were never on his side as he wished they were.

Pansy was, of course, the one to greet their guests, a tradition that she very much disliked but was inclined to continue. From the moment Daphne and Blaise stepped foot inside she began to gush, kissing her friends on the cheeks both, and giving a sickly sweet, "Oh, how you both look! Why, if Draco spent half as much time at home as he does at the prison place, I'm sure he could sparkle as you do, I'm sure." Blaise would smirk and laugh at this, for he could picture Draco sparkling like a girl in one of Pansy's dresses.

And then Bellatrix and Rodolphus showed up. "Oh, Auntie," she said, going for the common greeting with her aunt. "And look at you, Uncle. You both haven't changed a bit! Lucius is upstairs in the study, and if you don't mind the three of us, we'll be out in the parlor." She flashed her in-laws a smile before quickly ushering Blaise and Daphne away. Bellatrix always had a knack for making Pansy's skin crawl and would do whatever it took to quickly leave.

"You make it seem as though you do this sort of thing for a living," Blaise commented to Pansy as they took their seats in the parlor, Draco already having been seated snickered at them all. "I have to say it is quite interesting how you would compare Draco here to our lovely Daphne. Does he sparkle, too, I wonder?"

Pansy sneered. "Oh, shut up, Blaise," she snarled, running a hand through her hair. "I don't recall anyone asking you in particular, or do you enjoy your petty two cents worth a comment?"

The dark skinned man smirked. "Yes, love, I rather fancy what my two cent comments." Daphne rolled her eyes at him before slapping his leg.

"Stop, stop," she snapped at the two of them. "We're not here to bicker, we can save that for supper. I'd much rather know about how our darling Mr. Potter is doing in his home of two - three years? It is always such fun to hear of how he's doing."

"Wasting," Commented Draco swiftly, taking a drink of water as quickly as he could. "Watching his poor boyfriend practically dying before him must have done something, at least. He still believes, I think, that he'll get out, and it's beginning to drain him. It takes the fun out of trying to rile him up, you see."

Pansy eyed her husband warily leaning toward her right, away from him. She studied him a moment before biting down on a red nail. "Why, Draco, do you have a dirty little secret you would like to share?" she drawled, dark eyes flickering up, trying to meet his own gray ones. He would not look at her directly as he smirked.

"None that I wish to share with you, Pansy," he said dryly. "You would spoil the fun. You are known for doing that after all."

"Ah," sighed Blaise dejectedly, folding his arms. "I thought we were here to have fun, and not listen to them fight."

Daphne nodded right with Blaise. "I do hate it when they fight."

Draco scowled at Pansy before leaving the three of them to talk. It was no secret that his marriage was anything but perfect. In reality it was the very same way his own parents marriage had been, before certain actions had been taken. That same action would be with Draco for the rest of his natural borne life, to him, it was worse than having ever cast the Killing Curse on someone, it was worse than having been branded by a man who was now dead. Draco could never forget the look on his mothers face when she was sentenced to death, she screamed in argumentation that her loyalties lied with the Dark Lord. When caught, however, she admitted to it.

Lucius had been the one to kill her. It had been a family affair, Draco recalled. He had stood beside Pansy, his father, Aunt Bellatrix and Uncles Rodolphus and Rabastan stood around Narcissa. He had never seen his mother so broken, so frail, and helpless. Bellatrix had been sorry it had come to down to it, and his mother to all of them said she would be seeing them all in hell. And then Lucius killed her. He never forgave his father for that, but it wasn't his place, and he wouldn't risk the same fate as his mother had.

The blonde man threw open the doors to the library, finding that aunt, uncle, and father had relocated themselves there. His uncle, Rodolphus gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and Draco flopped himself down in a chair near the door, however still within ear shot. They were talking of Ministry business, of course, and Auntie Bella was adding in news from the Death Eaters, which caused Draco to snicker quietly to himself. Oh, what a powerful force the Death Eaters are! She would say to him when he was little. He wonder vaguely if she could hear herself speak. Probably not.

"The matter still stands, Lucius," came the quiet snarl of Bellatrix. "That _Resistance_, whatever is left of the Order of the Phoenix, is most likely planning their next move. Underground resistances are forming, still. And you know as well as I that while we can subdue we can't entirely cut them out."

Lucius was drumming his fingers upon the arm of his chair. "They all want Potter," he said in a way that made Draco's skin crawl. "They believe that he will still be able to save them, even now."

There was a bark like laugh from his uncle, and Draco leaned back in his chair to listen further. "Isn't it funny? All the hope they have and they can only manage such movements that are easily prevented?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "They mean to leave us a mark of some time, when it was actually Potter who had left enough marks to last us _and_ them a lifetime."

Draco, who could remember everything that happened to him during the times before the war pondered his uncles words. It was entirely all Potters fault that he had been forced into Death Eater ship, forced to protect his mother. He could still remember her crying after him. He was her only son. She had wanted only the best for him. But it was all Potter, he was to blame, as he always had been. He remembered what happened when he and Severus had returned to the Dark Lord that night during his sixth year.

_He was thrown forward at once. He stumbled to quickly regain his balance, and as he stood he swayed on the spot. Behind him sulk in a man whose dark figure quickly loomed over the boy, with arms crossed over his chest in a haughty manner. A woman strode in only moments later, looking pleasantly smug, as she normally did after quite sometime. She didn't bother to stop and stand by the man. She made quick to push the boy down onto his hands and knee's, a sneer curling onto her lips as she glared down upon him with her dark eyes._

"_Well," she snarled, her eyes never leaving the boy on the floor. "Go on. Explain to all of us why you failed to complete your given task." She had continued, tapping the side of her right leg with her wand, as if she was drumming to a beat. Her lips still curled into a snarl as her eyes fixed themselves on the boy on the ground. She bent her head over, allowing her dark hair to fall forwards, rolling off of her shoulders. When she finally lifted her head, it was to see the quivering man in the back, however before she had a chance to speak, there was a shrill shriek of "_Silence_!"_

_All eyes were focused on the back of the chair, and everyone held their breath respectfully. All but Draco, whose breathing seemed to be ragged as though he had done a great deal of running. The man in the chair arose and stepped closer to the fireplace. Reaching a hand out, he placed one hand on the mantle, his eyes narrowing into slits. It was only a matter of moments before he turned around to face the three people who had stormed in. "Silence, Bella, let the boy speak for himself." He drawled lazily letting his eyes slide down to the boy on the floor before back up to the man. "And you, Severus, have some explaining to do on your part of the boys-"_

"_I didn't do anything!" Draco suddenly hissed, his teeth gritted, and clenched together. He snapped his head up at once, his eyes landing on the very leader of the Death Eaters, a snarl set dead on his face. His hands, balled into fists upon the floor were trembling with anger, and it was at that very moment did he realize that the words that had been uttered from his mouths were not the best of choice words. He opened his mouth, as though he were about to correct himself._

"_Exactly," Voldemort sneered, turning around to face the boy completely. The three adults in the room all took a step back. The mans lipless mouth curled into a snarl. "And in doing so you cause great confusion among the rest of our family!" He spat, his eyes narrowing dangerously upon the boy. For a moment or two, it looked as if he had been considering pulling his wand on the boy, and cursing the living day lights out of him. Neither had happened and the man went back to glancing at the fire._

_It was then that Snape spoke up, though he did so holding back a disgruntled look. "Master, if I may," he began, at first glancing down to Draco before to Voldemort. "Include the boy on the plans to hunt down Potter. Have him see first hand what it takes to be a _real _Death Eater. Perhaps put him in the front lines. Plans to release the Death Eaters on the search for Potter doesn't begin until November."_

"_It would be a wise move, my lord," Bellatrix drawled eyeing Snape before turning her attention back to her master. "Rodolphus, and myself could… take the boy under our wing, until such times as when Lucius will be freed from Azkaban. I assure you that Draco will learn where his loyalties truly lie." The woman continued. She placed a hand firmly on her nephew's shoulder, digging her fingers into the fabric of his robes painfully, causing the boy to wince. A twisted smile crept onto her face as she turned to face Wormtail. "If you'd like, master, I am certain that I'd be able to make a man of Wormtail."_

_Wormtail, who had been snibbling in the back of the room, straightened up almost immediately, his eyes growing wide. It wasn't long before he was once again gnawing at this nails, in a very rat like manner, his eyes darting about person to person. He had begun to say something, but with the cruel smile that played across Bellatrix's face, his words were lost as he backed against the wall, his eyes all the more wide. If anyone, he feared that woman next to his master._

_Voldemort, who had been contemplating his different options, merely ran his hand along the mantel of the fireplace in thought. There was already so much going under why that they couldn't afford any further slip up from the boy. "Very well," The man said, his voice gone deathly low as he turned around completely. His wand had once again been drawn, and it resided at his side. "Bella, take the boy and teach him. However, when plans are put into action, there will be no second chances." _

It had been only pain after that and he had thanked the Dark Lord and he had begun training with his aunt the very next day. He had one drive throughout the whole time. Potter had left a mark on him, Pansy was sure to point out every night. The scar that ran along his chest. Now he had Potter right where he wanted him, in Azkaban.

"Draco," snapped Lucius, he was standing up with Bellatrix and Rodolphus. "Dinner's off. Your aunt and uncle have somewhere to be, and they would have dinner with Daphne and Blaise some other time."

"You're still lord of the manor," drawled Draco lazily, one leg slung over the arm of the chair. "Unless you've decided to finally leave." Draco didn't stick around to see what his father would do. He left the library scowling, and sulking all the way back to the parlor.

Blaise looked distraught while Pansy and Daphne were laughing away at something. He almost seemed to have at once perked up when Draco reentered. However, the news that the man had to give them, he could have done without.

"Bellatrix and Rodolphus called off dinner," Draco said, waving his hand. "Sorry you lot can't stay. It's for the good, you know. Pansy and I have a fight to continue from this morning, and Father and I have just started another fight."

Pansy rolled her eyes and stood up promptly. "You, Draco Lucien Malfoy, have absolutely no tact," she snapped, throwing an arm in the air. "You would do us all some good if you spent more time at work then here. More would likely to get done around here and then your father wouldn't have to complain all the time!"

Daphne couldn't have looked more delighted even as she bit down on her lip, tugging Blaise out of his seat. "Oh, Pansy, be gentle with him." she said, linking arms with Blaise who snickered. "We may need him later."

"Because we so desperately cleave his attention," Blaise winked before appertaining with Daphne.

"I hate you," Draco said earnestly, walking away from his wife.

Pansy bit her lip, clenching her hands. "It's Potter, isn't it, Draco?"

- - - - -

They sat in a booth at The Three Broomsticks, watching people as they entered and sat. Daphne drummed her fingers on the table, hazel eyes darting around the place as if she was trying to ignore Blaise who was reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. This was part of their daily routine. They made their stops to their parents, then to the Ministry, and depending on if they had to visit someone they would stop and get a drink at The Three Broomsticks. Luckily for them, their dinner plans had been canceled.

Blaise leaned back and set the paper down. One glace at Daphne told him all that he needed to know. Something had been bother her all day and having heard her snap at their dear friend Pansy just hours ago (while Draco would was out of their company) seemed to have proven it. They lived together and sharing a home with Daphne made him feel as if he had known her for her whole life. After all, they had grown up together, dated on and off in school. Now they lived together and they had many family members wonder why they didn't just get married.

Daphne, Blaise knew, took all information about Potter to heart. He knew why, and he did too. While he didn't give a rats ass about whether or not the man was in Azkaban, the conditions bothered him. To him, Potter was still a Gryffindor who got them into trouble as teenagers.

"Draco needs a different job," commented Daphne before she took a drink if her coffee. She looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking her head. "It's almost like he's trying to kill the loneliness in that place And to add that he actually married Pansy, who mind you, might as well have been his sister."

Blaise snickered. "Love, there is nothing more that Draco would want than to watch Potter suffer." He paused to give it a moment of thought. "However, knowing his family, he'll be bound to loose all remaining sanity and our dear Pansy will become a distraught wife with no children."

"Stop," snapped Daphne, setting down her cup. "You're being horrible, Blaise, and that is exactly what I was thinking."

From there they stopped talking and Daphne studied her nails carefully. To say that she didn't want to talk about that subject was a lie. She wanted to talk her head off, but couldn't in public, and they both knew that. She was worried for Draco and for Pansy. They were her bother and sister at heart, and she feared for Draco's sanity, but knew the Death Eaters wouldn't let him change jobs. As for Pansy, she knew what Lucius would do if Draco wouldn't help in providing an Heir. He would. That man was twisted in more ways than one.

No wonder poor Narcissa did what she did. Too bad it had gotten her killed.

Daphne allowed a small smirk to grace her lips. "So, what's the news on our favorite little Weasley? You know I just love to hear all about her, and what she plans to do.

The man looked at her oddly before scoffing. "What's to say? She wants to play innocent. She claims to just want to see Potter. But she is allowed out on her own now. Everyone at Azkaban knows not to let her in."

Daphne nodded her head. "Brilliant," she replied looking at her drink. "Blaise, you haven't touched your coffee yet."

- - - - - - -

Luna sat perched on the guard rail of her stoop, a single article of the _Quibbler_ in one hand, and a quill in the other. Her eyes scanned the paragraphs of the page repeatedly before she would eventually write something on her arm and roll her sleeve down. She tugged on the hem of her shorts, shaking her head every so often. It wasn't good, not at all, it made her want to pull her hair out, but it was already to short to get a firm grasp.

Over the course of the past three days she had been rereading the articles of the past two years that the Quibbler reporters wrote. But it was sneaky. The Quibbler now went to France, Ireland, and Scotland, and was owned by the Resistance. It was how they got their information and plans across to different countries without being found. Luna was currently looking at the Irish edition for Oliver's update from a month ago.

It was all a code. But it wasn't. The first letter pf every paragraph was bolded. Those letters spelled out things. They summarized the report. So far, in a poorly written article she had gotten F.O.U.N.D.L.A.V., but it was the way in which the words came together. They were in order! Even Luna knew what it spelled out, and the letters were supposed to be scrambled!

"Stupid, stupid!" She sighed, folding the article. "You're so stupid, Oliver. Bloody going to - to get us caught. You and Romilda both."

Luna Lovegood was far from the strange girl that she had been in Hogwarts. Grown up at twenty one, she lived for the cause of the Resistance. Lupin actually begun to say that she picked up on Tonks personality. She was loud, clumsy, and opinionated, and worked in the muggle world. She, along with Tonks and Lupin decoded the reports in the Quibbler. It was a boring job, but it had to be done by someone.

"Cho," Luna called behind her as she placed her quill behind her ear. "He found Lavender."

The twenty three year old Scotland native shed out of the house, tripping only slightly at the door. "Good. Is he going to try and-"

Luna sighed. "Cho, he's only just found her. And this was a month ago."

"Oh, please, shut up," Cho rolled her eyes. "I've got to go to work, and Roger is coming by later to pick up the papers in the kitchen."

She had never seen the blonde look so flustered in all her life. It was almost worth laughing at, and she had a hard time trying not to.

"Leave off then! You've probably made a right mess of my kitchen and I've only just cleaned it last night!" Cried Luna, jumping off of the railing. "And Cho, when do you plan on telling Oliver?"

But Cho was gone.

- - - - - - - - - -

**A/N:** Well, here's the next chapter, and I've finally gotten my internet back! So, this fic, along with others will be getting updated very shortly. Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch 3 Haunted  
**_I know you're still here._

"_Ginny, listen…I can't be involved with you anymore. We've got to stop seeing each other. We can't be together."_

"_It's for some stupid, noble reason, isn't it?"_

"_It's been like…like something out of someone else's life, these last few weeks with you. But I can't…we can't…I've got things to do alone now. Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to. He's already used you as bait once, and that was just because you're my best friend's sister. Think how much danger you'll be in if we keep this up.. He'll know, he'll find out. He'll try to get to me through you."_

"_What if I don't care?"_

"_I care. How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral…and it was my fault…"_

Ginny rolled over in her bed, clutching her bed sheet. It wasn't even three in the morning yet and she found herself awake and tears streaming down her face. Was a dream really a dream if all you heard were voices she wondered, allowing fresh tears to slide down her cheeks. She didn't need the images, she remembered it all too well, and she wished she hadn't because it was the first time he had pushed her away for her own good, and it was before he had left her for the first time, and now she could recall all the for all the reasons why she hated Harry Potter at this moment.

But she couldn't let him go, and it was tearing her apart. She hated him and she loved him and she missed him all at the same time. She was war ridden, like some many others around her, even though she hadn't been in the war, it's after effects were all she needed. She now suffered a personal war, a conflicting one. She couldn't run away, she would be arrested and brought back. The Ministry wasn't allowing Azkaban any visitors anymore, and all of her old, and closets friends were dead or wanted.

She thought of what her mum might have done had she caught Ginny awake and crying at this hour of night. Molly had been there to comfort her only daughter in those years before the war when Ginny woke up at night screaming and crying. They would talk until she calmed down enough and then Molly would assure her that Harry and other others were fine. But Ginny didn't have that now. She didn't have her mum's home cooking to look forward to in the morning. She didn't have any real source of comfort, she couldn't wake up to her dad's corny jokes coming from the kitchen or her brothers bantering.

No, not anymore. Now she had Percy.

Ginny tried to picture what Harry looked like now. Had he grown, did he still wear glasses, was his hair still had messy as ever? She only remembered the teenager who left. She couldn't remember the man who had sent her away two years ago before the war. She just remember that he looked tired like he had already lost. Still, Ginny tried as hard as she could to picture her old friend

Accounting for all the broken promises that had been made during those last years while he, Hermione, and Ron had been away she had a tough time remembering the days of peace in their younger years. All of the laughing, the horrible classes, Quidditch. She smile in spite of herself, remembering how Hermione's hair was always so much worse than Harry's hair in the morning before she took a brush to it. Those were the days that she missed.

"This is who we are," she said to herself, wiping her face with the back of her hand before sitting up. It was final.

There was movement down stairs. Did Percy not know when to go to bed anymore, or did he really enjoy making Ginny's life a living hell. He was doing a rather good job of it. She threw on a night robe and proceeded to stalk out of the room.

The sight that she was met with at the landing of the stairs was enough to make her throw something. And she almost did. From the moment Percy turned his head to look at her, the blonde headed figure smirked up at her, stepping around her brother, his eyes cold and calculating, trying to seize her up and gauge her reaction. But Ginny could only scowl at him. He was not someone that she would have liked to have dropped by in the middle of the night.

Have a hose fall on her and call her the Wicked Witch of the East before she would ever agree to being the least bit civil to Draco Malfoy. She thought this all to him, and all he could do was smirk at her, tightening his robes around him as he did so.

"Get out," Ginny said, folding her arms.

Both her brother and Malfoy stared up at her, only Malfoy continued to stare. Percy shook his head and said, "He's come to have words. With you, Ginny," before walking off toward the basement.

Brown eyes met gray eyes.

Malfoy cocked his head and begun pulling off his dragon hide gloves, finger by finger. "He's alive, you know," he drawled, looking down at his gloves, smirking faintly. "Not exactly in the right state of mind. But alive all the same."

Ginny came so close to throwing a vase at him. "That's all you've come to talk about? Harry's well being?" She laughed coldly, despite herself. "What good does that do, Malfoy? Do you suspect that you'll also drop by and tell me when he's died, too?"

"No, Weasley, no," replied Malfoy, choosing to lean against a wall. "I suspect that I'll drop by the day before I have order to have the dementors suck his soul right out of his body," he paused, smirking up at her. "How does that sound?"

Now she threw the vase, cursing. "Rot in hell, Malfoy."

"Thanks, but no," sneered the man, stepping over the broken vase to where she stood. Towering a good head over her, he stared down. "I trust you know Potter is already rotting in hell. Shame you can't see for yourself."

Ginny, whom had the overwhelming feeling to scream in frustration, narrowed her eyes. "What do you want," she demanded.

She knew Malfoy. He never came by, and when he did, it was only because he wanted something. Information, as if he expected her to have it. There had been timed when she did have the information that he was looking for, and then were times when she didn't.

But Malfoy just tutted and turned away, kicking the broken vase shards. They way in which he was walking lead Ginny to believe that he was thinking, and she had to wonder if that was even possible. She didn't know Malfoy's to think before talking, let alone think before making moves in a war.

"He shoved you away, didn't he?" Said the blonde slowly, back still turned. "How does it make you feel to know that to save you, to keep you from harm he matched himself up with ol' Terry Boot? Oh, sorry, didn't he tell you? No? Pity. You see, while you were off in Ireland, he was here, with Boot. Now, _they _were something to watch in their early days at Azkaban. Granted, Boot arrived two years later. We placed him in front of Potter and watched them as they tried to keep each other sane. Watched them yell at each other over the screams of others, listening to their promises that they would get out."

Malfoy paused, looking at the pictures on the walls, and smirked to himself before turning to face Ginny who had turned her head. "He never once mentioned you, you know. Never once asked about you. However, Boot stopped talking, stopped responding, and when Potter learned that we found you and brought you home, he stopped responding, too, and then he asked about you. He wanted to know if you were still alive. Tell me, Weasley, do you think that Potter forgot about you?"

Ginny began her retreat back up the stairs, biting down on her lower lip as he did so. She wouldn't believe that for a moment that Harry could have forgotten about her. She could believe everything else, but not that, and she laughed at herself. Laughed for ever having stood there, listening to Malfoy talk, listening to him pull at her and twist her in ways that no one else could. She laughed for letting him toy with her like that. She was stronger then how she had allowed herself to seem just then. And she laughed for believing Malfoy.

She laughed and she cried silently but would not let him see her. When he called up to her she stopped.

"This isn't a fairytale, Weasley," he said coldly. "It's never been."

With a flushed, tear stained face she turned to him and smiled sadly. "He's more than you will see, Malfoy. He's more than you say," she said, loud enough for him to hear before continuing her ascent up the staircase. Atop the stairs and back in her room she fell to the floor and let the tears spill.

In her heart Ginny knew that Harry would never forget.

- - - - -

Tonks was sleeping when it happened. She had been snuggled up warmly next to Remus with her share of the blankets wrapped securely around her. Either some ungodly person hated her, never mind the Death Eaters, so much that they had to go and send one of the loudest barn owls that insisted on rapping at the window until it was let inside. Too bad the poor thing didn't know that Tonks wasn't exactly the best middle of the night person. She tended to chase things around in the dark.

Too bad for Tonks the barn owl wasn't one for making midnight runs. They spent a good ten minutes chasing each other around before Remus finally woke up and managed to get the owl away from Tonks and to get Tonks to sit down, but not before she snatched up the scroll of parchment the dratted thing had come to deliver. She gave it a nasty look before sitting Indian style on the bed.

Then she actually took the time to look at the bird.

"I haven't see that one before," she commented, pointing to the owl which was surely giving her a death glare. "It's not one of ours, Remus," she added.

This wasn't easy for them. They were in hiding. The two of them would be risking a lot if they just let the bird go, and they figured that they couldn't. What good could they possibly do in they were carted off to Azkaban?

But Tonks chose to look at the parchment instead, and when she did she cocked her head, and tugged on Remus' shirt.

"Oi, look at this. _There's a way. I need time._ Remus, it's not Luna's writing, and it's not Ginny's."

"Well, it's not Oliver's or Roger's either," commented the old werewolf sitting down next to the former Auror. "And we can't afford to go through the list. It's not one of your sources, is it?"

Tonks shook her head. "They haven't written in since two weeks ago. Oh, look, we get to keep the ruddy owl!" She narrowed her eyes on the bird.

The two of them sat in silence. It was agreed. While they should have immediately informed the others of the letter, they weren't ready to have a swarm of people in one huddled house at this late hour. However, it wasn't until Tonks had begun to whine about needing her sleep did they eventually turn the lights back out, and Remus put a silencing charm on the owl. They already had to meet the Delacour sisters, or at least Tonks had to, there would be no way for Remus to go out in public and not be recognized strictly based on his appearance.

- - - - - - -

Gabrielle Delacour, barely out of school, looked around the streets of Diagon Alley and wrinkled her nose. So much for the lovely scenery. She bowed her head and gazed at the table every time a man or boy would grin at her. Oh, the bad, bad part about being in London. The majority of the wizarding community didn't seemed too accustomed to having Veela's present, even if the only traces of Veela in her blood were small, they still had effect. Okay, so traces wasn't exactly the best way to put it.

She wasn't going to be in London long. Just long enough to take care of business and make sure that things went as smoothly as they possibly could. She had several things to take care of back home. After all, she was sure that her mother couldn't possibly handle having two twin girls and a pesky former reporter crammed in their house. Merlin forbid that they begun to cause a ruckus.

The girl was just about to get up when a hand was placed on her shoulder. With a startled gasp and a small jump Gabrielle narrowed her eyes and placed a hand over her chest.

Her sister, Fleur just laughed a little.

"Salut, ça va?" the woman said, fighting off a laugh before taking a seat across from her sister.

Gabrielle managed a small smile. "Ça va," she replied happily

They sat around, not looking at each other, but out the window to the streets. To them, it seemed strange. A world, different from what they knew and at the same time it was exactly like the very world that they knew. They could watch people talk and wonder what it was that they were talking about, and in that moment they became witness to many peoples happy times. They could smile and wave at the people who waved at them, but weren't entirely sure that they meant the wave or the smile.

One of them, very clearly, still lived in France, a whole world away. Contact for her was hard, she didn't enjoy floo, fire calls, and wasn't entirely keen on sending owls all the way to London just to get a letter to her sister. The other, well, lived in London, her husband dead, all but three in-laws were dead for that matter.

Still, their timely, and pleasant silence was rather interrupted in a very untimely and unpleasant manner when a lady with short blonde hair proceeded to sit down next to them.

"Hey-!" Fleur started before the woman so casually patted her on the shoulder and winked. "Oh, you are horrible."

"Salut, Tonks," Gabrielle said quietly.

"Can we please not do the French thing. You're both over your accents well enough, and you'll get me caught. Somehow," Tonks said pleasantly enough, folding her hands on the table top. Reaching into a pocket she pulled out a scroll of parchment and placed it on the table. "It's a note. Flew in last night, unfortunately. Read it, it's none of our hand writings, we've checked this morning. And it's none of mine. What do you make of it?"

Fleur was the first to pick up the note and read it. Her eyebrows raised at the words she saw and how exactly how they came together. She shook her head and handed it over to Gabrielle who gave a quiet "Oooh" and let her fingers trace over the words carefully. When she looked up she smiled.

"You should have shown this to Luna," She said, restraining her French accent which was a very clear undertone. "She probably could have gathered more information from it than me. But this is good."

Tonks rolled her eyes and pulled back the note. "So, what can _you_ get from it?"

"Well, being that I'm no Seer for one, I can tell you that whoever wrote this was in a hurry or very mad. Or both, actually. Isn't Luna supposed to be here?"

"No. She had a thing. You know, work. The thing people do to earn money around here."

Gabrielle stared. "Yes, so. The person was in a hurry and clearly wanted to get this message out as fast as possible. It could be that this person really does have some actual information. But what exactly is meant by _there's a way_, you would need Luna to look at for." She paused to look at her sister. "Fleur, do you have a job?"

"Oui," came the reply of the older sister who looked sullen at the thought.

Tonks look like she wanted to weep. The French! And they were sisters. "For Merlin's sake. You lot only got worser over the years. Blood worse!" She laughed hysterically. "I'm going to go find Luna. And stuff. You - you just talk. All French like. Right. Bye."


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch 4 Play Dead  
**_I play dead to hide my heart_

He was reading. Or at least he was pretending to read anyway. It was rather hard to when Goyle insisted on ranting about the fixations that the Ministry was undergoing concerning what to do with the remaining unemployed Death Eaters and how they should be placed in Azkaban with them. According to Goyle they needed more helping hands around the dreadful prison. And it was such oodles of fun to watch new people to get the jitters and such around the Dementors.

Draco had actually had about enough of the talk until one of the other guards came rushing in looking more than a little stressed. More like he had just got caught in a hall with a Dementor. The idea made Draco snigger as he looked up with raised eyebrows.

"They've all started screaming," the guard, peering over his shoulder into the hall. "And the one's just laying on the ground, twitching."

"Has he said a word?" Asked Draco standing up, Goyle was already to the door.

The guard shook his head. "Not one, sir. He's just laying there."

Draco cursed. "Bloody sod. He dies and I'll have hell to pay - Goyle, not one more word about them sending the rest of the Death Eaters here. I don't quite fancy spending time away from my family with my aunt and uncle working with me. Then I would be spending time with family."

Goyle led the way, not having let up his rant. Draco rather missed the days when all that man ever did was grunt and throw shoddy spells at people Draco hated. Then he had no mind and no real opinion of his own. Now all he could talk about was getting more staff at Azkaban. What he didn't understand was that the only staff they got at Azkaban were rather low ranking Death Eaters and the lower one usually worked under Draco, who was considered a low ranking Death Eater. It was a family shame, actually, but he didn't mind. He had little to no care what his family thought. He just rathered his father dead and his wife, well, he wanted her anywhere but near him.

Truth be told as shoddy as his job was Draco liked it. Long hours away from home was time spent in a place where he could watch people he knew and loathed waste away. But there was one that he focused on. One that he continued deal with. Potter. Potter. Potter. Potter. Everything he had done while in Azkaban was to test that mans sanity, to see what his limits were, and then they were to keep him sane. Sane enough to keep living for the sole purpose to watch everyone around him crumble, crack, and fade away.

"I don't see why-"

"Goyle, the only way that they would send more Death Eaters to us would be because they found some one dumber than you," Draco snapped, speeding up and turning the corner. It wasn't long before the sounds of the screams reached his ears but he past up each and everyone of them, counting each cell as he went. And then he came to it.

And it was true. Potter was just laying there, staring out at nothing so Draco felt compelled to do something. He kicked the bars.

"Still got a pulse then, Potter?" He snarled, bending down as close as he could to the other mans level. "The vampires at the Ministry could always use a new meal. That's where we plan on sending your lover boy when he finally kicked it, you know. But, by the looks of it, you might be taking that trip before him. Seem to be doing that a lot, don't you? Wound up in here first, and fancy this, you be vampire feed first."

And it happened. Potter looked up, but didn't make any further movements. That was, however, before he decided to strike out with his fist and make a rather loud banging noise against the bars of his cell. The blond man fell back and sneered.

Potter slowly stood up and staggered to his cot. Draco was truly amazed. It was the first time since that man had arrived that he had seen him walk. He thought for sure that he would be horribly bent. "Still got a pulse, Malfoy, yeah," he croaked tiredly sitting down. Eventually he laid down and turned green eyes to Draco. "Go home and shag a pretty little lady, will you? I think we _raving lunatics _could do with a night without you around." He coughed and closed his eyes.

Draco sneered and hit the bars with the palms of his hands. He swore that Potter just laughed and he narrowed his eyes. "Potter, you just love these little games of yours, don't you?"

The dark haired man licked his lips dryly and turned his head. "I love it when you don't speak. Oh, and I also like food. That would be nice some time soon. Go home, Malfoy." and Potter turned to the wall, squeezing his eyes shut, coughing a few times.

"You're a ponce, you know, Potter." Draco snarled.

But neither man said anything more after that comment was made. Draco stormed from one end of the hall to the next, stopping only briefly in front of Potter's cell. His mine was racing a mile a minute, and still he couldn't figure out the man in the cell. What kept him going, what he thought of both day and night and why he kept on staring. He would talk, but only when no one guard was around. He would talk to the others in the cells and he would cry for them. He would always cry for them, it was just how it was. It was just how he was, and Draco could simply not understand him.

"_He's more than you will see, Malfoy. He's more than you say." _

He snarled, remembering the Weasley girls words and his eyes flashed to the man laying upon his cot. Was he really more than a worthless pile of skin a bone on a cot? Was a more than a washed up hero boy? He didn't know and he couldn't care. His job forbid him to care, no matter how much he may have wanted to care. It just wasn't allowed.

"Your Weasley says hello, Potter," Draco sneered, walking away from the cell. "You should be ashamed, Potter. You threw her away, and for what? Good old Terry Boot. Course, you've never told her, you never had the chance and now a little birdie spilt the seeds. Heartbroken she is. I imagine she wont get over the shock for quite sometime, actually. But it's just as well. Can't be wanting her back now can you? After all, you've gone and started playing for the other team."

But Potter didn't seem to listen; he had shut his eyes and was facing the wall away from the cell doors. What more was there to say to the rat? Draco shook his head and continued on his merry way a frown present on his face and a look of thought in his eyes. What was there to do?

- - - - - - -

"That's tough," Luna said idly, blinking with her head in her hands.

Ginny groaned. "I know! First, it's like, their lot has to go and look for me and then place me under house arrest and when I'm finally allowed out who do they send to have words? Malfoy! Bloody Malfoy!"

"I suppose it's just as well though, isn't it? After all, he is in charge of the goings on in Azkaban and Harry's well being."

Luna sat back in her chair, playing with the hem of her oversized pink sweater. She smiled somewhat wistfully as she looked over at Ginny. She moved to fold her legs on her chair under her black skirt. She took a sip of her tea before stirring in two spoons of sugar and continuing to pick at the hem of she sweater. The truth was, she had something to tell, but how exactly she was going to tell it, well, that was just a bit hard to think of. Instead she watched as Ginny took a drink of her tea and sighed.

This was how they spent their time. They very well should have been talking about the great plan that the Resistance had in mind. But today, as Luna had declared, was a day for just the two of them. They were out for tea and scones and then later they would be off for dinner. After hearing about what a terrible prude Malfoy had been just the other night Luna figured that she could get Ginny out of the house and away from that brother of hers just to breathe. Hopefully it was working. The redhead did look a bit more relaxed than she had earlier in the day.

"Maybe I can convince them to let me move back to Ireland," Ginny said into her tea, looking up at Luna. "Surely they wouldn't have a problem with that, would they?"

The girls pondered and then Luna spoke up, "They might. You know how things are run now a days, don't you? They've seen you hiding out once, they're just going to assume that you're going to go back to plot something top secret with the rebels there. And why wouldn't you! Given the lot we have here, I'd give my left shoe to go over there and plot the down fall of this Ministry of ours," she said with a nod crossing her arms over her chest.

Ginny sighed. "Luna, I wish you'd stop hanging around Tonks so much. You're starting to sound exactly like her. It's scary. Also, do you know where the meeting will be?"

"I reckon I do," Luna said playfully, picking up her cup. "It might be a little place just outside of Wales. It'll be nice to see everyone again, wouldn't it?"

Ginny frowned, tossing a bit of one of her scones at the other girl. "Not everyone, mind you! Just everyone that we've got for now-"

The other girl gave a snicker. "Which is everyone. Or are you forgetting again?"

"Luna," Ginny sighed.

"Yes?"

"Shut up and drink your tea."

The two sat there for a moment or two longer in silence, each thinking separate things. Ginny found herself dazzled with her tea and nearly lost herself in the warmth while Luna was at once back to picking at the hem of her pink sweater.


End file.
